The Price
by GrimGrave
Summary: AU: As an assassin for Talon, Widowmaker has underwent hellish training to become as untouchable as smoke, never getting caught. But when a mission goes horribly wrong, she must go to the one person she'd rather avoid at all costs. Devil!Mercy x Widowmaker. Rated M for adult themes and content. NotSafeForWork or children. Feedback is appreciated.


Disclaimer: Overwatch and all characters associated with it belong to Blizzard Entertainment. GrimGrave does not make money out of writing fiction.

 _ **The Price**_

 _Pain:_ it bloomed in every limb of her body, her head most of all. Her right temple pulsated agonizingly as hot red life-force gushed down the right side of the assassin's face. Her suit was torn in places from grazing bullets, pale-blue skin bleeding on and staining the white sheets of the operation table. Her visor-helmet was stuck and damaged from stray shots. A careless – some would call it arrogant – move had triggered the alarm and although the target was eliminated, it had come at a great cost.

Widowmaker struggled to breathe. The pumping of blood echoed in her ears. She didn't want to be here in this white room where it smelled like hand sanitizer, even if she was about to bleed to death.

 _/ "You're badly injured," Reaper had told her. How observant of him. "You need to see the head field medic, Widowmaker."_

 _The assassin managed to shoot her fellow Talon agent a dark glare from her left eye. "I will not go see_ _ **that**_ _woman for medical attention!"_

" _You don't have a choice, Widowmaker!" the grim man chided. "What is your problem with her anyway?"/_

The Frenchwoman had a coughing fit.

If anyone knew just what kind of woman Mercy was – ironic name, given the medic's sadistic demeanour – they would understand the assassin's hesitation to pay her a visit. Granted, Talon operatives knew to some extent, but none more than Widowmaker. After all, the Frenchwoman was the doctor's favourite patient for the wrong reasons.

The door opened but she didn't bother to look up. It was demeaning to be alone with Mercy in this kind of state; bloody and weak. The faint _clack_ s of shoes hitting tiles were slow-paced at first, then paused. Then it resumed at a quickened pace once the door had been locked with a low _click._

"My, oh my…" The assassin bristled upon hearing that Swiss accent. She could see Mercy's hoof-shaped footwear below. "When I was told that I had a critically injured patient waiting, I would have never guessed that patient being you, Amélie."

Widowmaker spoke through clenched teeth, "Get it over with, _doctor_."

"One can't rush recovery, my dear. Auf einer Skala von eins bis zehn, wie fest tut es weh?"

Tch. "…C'est un dix. Now patch me up enough so I can get out of this hellhole."

The Swiss chuckled at her, unfazed. "Always so serious, Frau Widow. But I don't dislike that attitude." She stepped closer and grabbed the Frenchwoman's right arm, inspecting it closely. "And here I thought that you were as slippery as a spider. Looks like you _can_ bleed."

When Widowmaker didn't respond, the First Responder merely chuckled again. "I need you out of this suit, my dear. But first we have to do something about that helmet of yours."

"Just get it over with, woman!" the assassin snarled but she immediately regretted those words. She didn't have to see to know that the devilish woman was smirking.

"Oh, very well then, Fräulein. But it's going to cost you extra." She placed a warm hand on the broken side of her patient's recon visor. "That being said, a little less hostility wouldn't go amiss."

The Frenchwoman didn't have time to react before the Swiss began prying, not too carefully, the visor off her. The pulsing pain in her right temple was amplified and she resisted the urge to shriek. Bits of the recon visor fell to the floor and blood gushed out of the wound and ran down Widowmaker's face once more.

"Just hold still, one moment…Ich kümmere mich um dich."

The pressure loosened and so did the numbing pain in the assassin's head. While her temples throbbed and her wound stung, the visor was placed aside. She looked up, ochre eye meeting purple ones of Mercy: the woman, as fitting to her personality, was dressed in a special swift-response suit modelled after the western depictions of demons with black body-suit with red paddings for protection, finished with a tail and horns. Her raven-black hair was wound up in a short ponytail.

The Swiss smiled with sly affection. "Ah, there it is; that look in your eyes is something I can't get enough of." She softly laughed and stepped back, eyeing her. "Strip, Amélie."

The lilac-haired woman glared up at Mercy, but she didn't need to be told twice; things would only get worse if she didn't comply and she was in need of medical attention. So she got up and slowly undressed, the firm-textured suit being peeled off and pooling around her thighs before Widowmaker unclasped her boots. Bare and bleeding, she sat back down on the table, exposed to Mercy's lustful stare.

"Now let's get that svelte body a good clean…"

At first, the First Responder cleaned up the blood around the numerous wounds, soaking up blood in the process. As she did, her free hand caressed a toned thigh.

"Watch where you're touching…" the assassin reprimanded, though her voice didn't reflect her anger. Nor would it have made a difference.

"Save your energy, _meine Liebste._ " The Swiss had fetched a new towel to wipe away the blood from Widowmaker's temple. "This is just for leverage."

Same old excuse. The Frenchwoman decided to bear it, as per usual. She quivered slightly from the way Mercy kneaded her thigh, her hand dangerously close to her bared sex…

"That takes care of the blood," the devilish woman stated. "Now for the antiseptic: we wouldn't want infections, now would we?"

Each contact with the antiseptic-soaked cotton ball against her wounds had Widowmaker hiss, but the sensation of having her breasts fondled, one at a time, even more so. They fit the palm of the raven-haired woman's hand perfectly… Despite the rough treatment of her malleable mounds, her little buds stood sweetly at attention as pleasure-pain kept assault the assassin's senses.

"And now for the gauzes," Mercy whispered and leant in close – she could steal a kiss if she so wanted – and her husky laugh sent shivers down the sniper's spine. Widowmaker glanced down at Mercy's lips ruby red lips. How many a times had this mouth nipped, kissed, and whispered devilish temptations that, regrettably, made her knees weak?

And how many times more would they make the Talon agent silently beg for more?

"If you want to be kissed that badly, you only need but to ask; Ich bin da." The Frenchwoman shot back a deadly look, but it had no effect. The field medic went to fetch the bandages, her hips swaying from side to side with each step, likely exaggeratingly to catch her patient's attention. And it worked.

The case with bandages put aside, Mercy leant in closer than necessary as she wrapped the gauze on the assassin's outstretched arm.

"I've always admired your tattoos, Amélie. It's sexy."

She smelled like wild berries, Widowmaker noted, and it was the only thing pleasant about this woman. The Swiss moved on to her patient's left shoulder and leaned in to her ear –

" _As soon as I've tended to your wounds, you're going to get it, mein kleiner Vogel."_

 **Vogel.** Widowmaker knew that word; it was German for "bird", and it was a pet name that she didn't like. Not that "Spinne" (spider) would be better. Nevertheless the sniper shuddered with a bizarre mix of disgust and excitement as her doctor pressed up against her, nuzzling and nipping the skin of a pale-blue throat and touching her hip as she applied the bandage, and the lilac-haired woman's head was spinning.

The brunette moved on to the lilac-haired woman's head: undoing the ponytail, Widowmaker's hair cascaded down her back before the Swiss applied the bandage; the wound was large enough so the gauze had to cover the assassin's right eye. Mercy pressed her lips against it once she was done and giggled as she did.

"Now, for your legs…"

Ochre pools widened at the implication and she opened her mouth to protest but ruby lips crashed against hers in a searing kiss; her muffled protests only served to allow an agile tongue to snake past into an oral cavern.

It was only Mercy that made her heartbeat speed up. It was only this devil of a woman that made her body painfully warm.

Widowmaker tried to push back, but her arms and shoulder tensed from the pain, her strength leaving her. She was at the mercy of… well, Mercy, and it wasn't until the dark-haired first responder needed oxygen that she stepped back, leaving the assassin's lips swollen and slightly bleeding.

And Mercy didn't even appear to feel guilty about it. Then again, had she ever?

"Your legs," she then stated and gestured. "Spread them."

Disgusted, the Frenchwoman complied. She glared darkly at the field medic as the latter smirked.

"I will have to change the operation sheet after this…"

 _Don't say it. Don't say it. Don't –_

"It's absolutely sodden. I always knew your body was more honest." Reaching for the gauze, the Swiss knelt down before her patient's right leg. The patching up was quick, but the doctor didn't move away from Widowmaker's slender limb; she caressed her leg and worshiped it, planting wet kisses upwards and gently biting the skin before moving up to her thigh, kissing the inside and getting closer and closer…

Widowmaker shivered. Her body was torn between the anticipation of what would inevitably happen and fear of just **what** would happen.

Her mewling quim served as a painful reminder of her body's betrayal, however. Her wet core twitched as Mercy's face was but a few centimetres away to devour her essence, drink in her liquid excitement –

The first responder looked up at her with a devilish grin. "Time for the other leg…"

If she had had the strength, Widowmaker would've cussed at the other woman but all that was forgotten as soon as her left leg was patched up and the doctor resumed the process, nuzzling and kissing the inside of her left leg until she was once again an inch away from the assassin's pussy.

And just like that, Mercy paused. "That takes care of your wounds…" She looked up, a feral smile curving the corners of her lips. "I told you the first time that I will never let you die… for _a price_. It's time for me to once again collect the debt."

The sniper swallowed the lump her in throat before the doctor rose up on her feet…

 **/././././**

Everything was spinning. The assassin instinctively arched back onto the operation table, a shameful moan escaping her mouth. Her eyes had rolled back into their sockets and her whole body quivered from the assault of her pleasure receptors.

The Frenchwoman's legs had willingly spread for the devil-woman for easier access as the Swiss penetrated wet heat with two slender fingers. The field medic suckled on a small peak while her free hand played with its twin, twisting and pulling it to her heart's content.

"One shouldn't neglect a body's natural needs," the first responder whispered and proceeded to take the nipple back into her mouth.

Widowmaker moaned again, her hips rutting against the other woman's fingers, matching her rhythm, as the older woman's fingers filled her and pressed into her pulsating walls –

Mercy bit down on her patient's sensitive bud and the lilac-haired woman cried out, her body convulsing. At the back of her mind, Widowmaker was furious; at Mercy, certainly but more so at herself: for giving up so easily, for the base desire that made her silently beg for more of this purgatory of pleasure that was this woman.

And lastly, she hated how wet the sweetspot between her legs were, throbbing with want even as the Swiss bit and scratched enough to bruise and draw blood respectively. Widowmaker quivered as a hot tongue swirled over bruised skin and petite wounds, her breasts still fondled and her quim spilling out excitement onto the sheets. The field medic was sadistic, horny, and a paragon of overwhelming sexual appeal that had the cold-hearted assassin whipped and begging for more lashes.

Her pussy was in heat, and that heat needed quenching.

"It's time for you to sing for me, mein kleiner Vogel."

The sniper's eyes widened and immediately rolled back into their sockets; the solid sound of fingers plunging into wet heat echoed in the small room, each thrust punctuated by a moan from the Frenchwoman's constricting throat. Pleasure built up and zipped from neuron to neuron with each long, drawn-out, agonizing second –

"Beg, meine Liebste." Her rhythm sped up just enough to keep Widowmaker on the very edge before slowing down, only to resume the quick, rough pace again. "Beg me, like you always do."

The sniper could barely speak, each syllable turning into a shameful moan, a whorish splutter of spittle. The devil-woman's voice, tongue, and fingers had her trembling and her bundle of nerves painfully teased. And yet…

" _Beg me, mein Vogel."_

The assassin looked up with eyes dimmed with lust, her lips twitching as she bit back for but a moment to suppress another moan, and replied,

" _Please…have m-mercy…"_

The first responder grinned a feral grin and let out a dark laugh and pressed herself up against the younger woman –

" _Never!"_

-and inserted two – then three, and four – fingers into Widowmaker's tight snatch, sheathing them up to the second knuckle and stretched them apart and curling against pulsating, velvety walls until the sniper howled and wailed, and saw stars as her brain short-circuited from the torturous edge of pleasure that finally came again…and again… and again.

 **/././././**

"And the final touch," the Swiss said as she directed her _Caduceus_ staff at the Frenchwoman, the healing tether slowly stitching rend flesh back together. She giggled. "Ahh… Die Wunder der modernen Medizin!"

Widowmaker shot back an icy glare as she donned her new suit, despite being told that she should wait until she could remove the gauzes. She had woken up an hour later with her body tired from earlier.

"There, good as new." The field medic winked. "You should be able to return to the field within a few days, Amélie."

She didn't reply – she never did. The assassin only had one thing in mind, and that was to get out of the vicinity: away from Mercy. She briskly walked past the brunette –

"You're welcome, I guess." The doctor chuckled. "Don't be a stranger, meine Liebste."

The sniper ceased mid-step and the devil-woman looked over her shoulder. She didn't know if she had caught the assassin glancing back at her, or what that look in ochre eyes had meant, but Widowmaker had left before she could figure it out. Not that it mattered.

She'd come back. She always did.


End file.
